


The Cat Problem

by raven_jem



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Language, Mental Health Issues, even more cats, lots of fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_jem/pseuds/raven_jem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a dreary Gotham day, Catwoman asked Riddler to watch her cats for a week. And a rollickin' good time was had by all. Featuring pyromaniacs, kleptomaniacs, and eldritch horrors. Vaguely set sometime near the end of pre-Flashpoint continuity, with Detective!Riddler.</p><p>Written for the Riddler Reverse Big Bang 2014. Link to art inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the adorable art that inspired this fic here: http://waterwindow.livejournal.com/2629.html
> 
> Thanks, waterwindow!

I was at my desk when the call came. Not on my office line, in which case I would have let my secretary field it, but on my private cell. Few people I know have my number, and since I wasn’t currently waiting on news from any of my informants, it was obviously one of those I might—tentatively—call a friend. If my work were at all engrossing or productive, I would have ignored the ringing. Since my only open case was neither, I gave myself a break and fished my phone from under the pile of paper.

“Selina, my dear, lovely to hear from you, as always.” I smirked and waited for her reply. On any other day, she would object to being my dear anything.

“You’re in a good mood, Eddie. That’s great—did you have any plans for today?” She sounded out of breath. I strained to identify the background noises on her end: a zipper, followed by a few muffled thumps. Something crinkling. Plastic?

“A few,” I answered, peering at the loathed case before me. The details hadn’t changed since the last time I’d glared at them. Photographs of a charred husk of a building, an insurance claim for Mr. Walter Kinsey, court order, my personal profile on Garfield Lynns. In a purely Gothamesque twist on the classic arson-for-insurance fraud, this local business owner was attempting to direct all suspicions toward Firefly, despite a lack of evidence and the not insignificant fact that Firefly was still supposed to be locked in Blackgate. This had seemed like a better idea yesterday, when I had been lured in by the promise of a substantial paycheck. Money was tight, what can I say?

Now? Best case scenario, Kinsey’s a liar and this will be a waste of my time; worst case scenario, I’m about to stumble into an active Rogue encounter, which I did my best to avoid. Note to self: be wary of accepting cases when the client is too obviously biased on the outcome.

“Are these plans of yours going to take very long?” Clearly I hadn’t given the answer Selina had been looking for. I heard the zipper again—was she packing?—and decided that whatever she wanted, it was bound to be more desirable than this dead end before me.

“Why, do you miss me?”

“I just might, slick. If you’re not _too_ busy, you should swing by my place later,” she drawled.

“What’s at your place?”

“Witty conversation and bubbly?”

Hmm. Selina’s taste in alcohol was excellent and expensive. Probably better than I could afford on my own, at least for now. “Next question: is there any time too soon?”

She chuckled. “Come on over.”

? ? ?

I knew she was playing me from the beginning. Knew as soon as she called me, felt that conviction validated when she greeted me warmly and doubled when she plied me with champagne and idle chit-chat (really, Lina? Champagne? For a simple visit?). I’m no fool. I simply could not have anticipated her request—with no detraction to my deductive ability, there was very little to hint toward this outcome.

“You want me to— _what?_ ” I should have stayed at work. Then I wouldn’t be sitting on Selina’s  absurdly soft couch, dodging her attempts to coerce me into signing away my dignity.

“It’s not that difficult.” Selina looked utterly unconcerned while she stroked the cat in her lap, a bright orange hellbeast appropriately named Pepper. Pepper glared at me with supreme loathing, as she did every time I visited Selina’s apartment. Needless to say, I did not get along with at least half of the cats that I met in this lush abode.

“Question! How many cats can one apartment hold? The answer is too many, Lina, especially for a whole week.”

“I’m not asking you to stay here for the entire week. I need somebody to drop by once or twice a day. Come here, I’ll show you why.” She jumped to her feet and left her living room, confident that I would follow. My first, petty inclination was to walk out the door, but… well… I did enjoy her company very much, and her whip was utterly terrifying. I rose awkwardly from the couch cushion that had half-devoured me and followed her, though not without misgivings. Pepper paced me, bristling and unhappy with my presence. Nothing new there.

“I know why you need a catsitter for your oh-so _mysterious_ last-minute trip—I’m sure there’s nothing illegal going on there, hm?—you need a catsitter because you hoard cats. I bet some asinine reality TV show exists that could get a good episode or two out of you.” We moved toward the back half of her apartment, which I had never seen before. Selina tended to be a very private and secretive person. Rather like me, really.

“I do not hoard cats,” she objected. “I get a lot of visiting strays, okay? Not all of them will stick around when I’m gone.” I remained unconvinced and let my doubt show in the malcontent look I shot her. In response, she switched to a sweeter tone. “When I get back we’ll hit the town. Opera house, Italian, that chocolatier off 3rd Avenue you really like. My treat.”

Could anything fully compensate for the hassle of spending a week looking after the cats? This infuriating woman had befriended the smartest man in Gotham, and the only favor she requested of his great intellect was—was—catsitting! I scowled at the floor and noted that she’d led me to an entanglement of wiggling, squeaking kittens in her bedroom. Seven to be precise, unless there were others hiding under the bed. Not a far-fetched possibility at all, considering we passed at least three cats who were far more timid about their interest in me than this damn ginger heckler who insinuated herself between our legs.

“I’m assuming the kittens are your primary concern.” An obvious conclusion to being led back here in the middle of a discussion about feline supervision.

 “Oh, yes. These little darlings, Pepper, and,” Selina trailed off, biting her lip as she surveyed the room. She pointed at a motionless mass of gray fur half-buried in her pillows. “That guy right there. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” Though I’d met some of her cats before, the kittens and the one on the bed were all new to me. I gave the latter a cursory inspection, which left me dubious as to whether or not it was actually alive, though the only other two options were dead or undead. Heh. I decided to call it Church, on the off-chance that it was a reanimated horror that Selina kept around for sentimentality. Turning my attention back to the woman herself, I noticed that she’d edged into my personal space. Her exaggerated pout might work on Batman—doubtful—but it wouldn’t have the same effect on me.

“Any others?”

 “The litter’s mother, if she’s around. They’re at seven weeks now, so she’s taken to wandering again… Oh, you’ve met her, the American short-hair with the brown and white fur, and that funny crescent pattern on her chest?”

I grimaced. “The Hairball Queen?” I once lost a pair of shoes to that one.

“Stop naming my cats. You always end up insulting them somehow. I suppose that’s her.” She tapped a finger against my chin in rebuke. It was dangerous to read too much into flirtations from Catwoman, particularly when she wanted something. I had to keep that thought in mind.

“You’ve made me responsible for at least ten cats. Lina, where are _you_ going to be during all of this?”

Her response was a cheeky grin. “Moving something more delicate. Trust me, Eddie, you’d rather have the cats.” She had to be aware of how much vagueness stirred my curiosity. I can manage my compulsions, I really can, but challenges like these always proved difficult to resist. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye open for news about stolen goods over the next few days, especially if they suited Selina’s tastes. Hey, I _was_ supposed to be a detective now.

Not that I’d do anything with the information if I caught her. I realized at this time that I was going to let her talk me into watching the cats. With a heavy sigh in my voice, I asked, “What do you need me to do with them?”

I received a tight, brief hug for this capitulation.

? ? ?

I don’t hate cats. I really, truly don’t. I just don’t expect to spend much time around them. I had less than a day to mentally prepare myself for my new responsibility, given that Selina’s latest caper had materialized overnight and was, apparently, on quite the time constraint. She spent the next morning on a flight, destination unknown, while I spent it driving around lower Gotham for interviews with my client’s employees. They were fairly typical for a retail crew, comprised mainly of middle-aged managers and students from Gotham U, the latter of which tended to change twice a year. Darla, my secretary and assistant, spoke to the students while I focused on the older employees, as those tended to build longer careers in this field and were thus more likely to know something about Mr. Kinsey.

All I heard from them confirmed what I already knew to be true: Kinsey’s business was failing, the fire was a setback that for most of them spelled doom. They were already applying for other jobs. It eventually became clear that I had wasted my time. Darla’s luck was worse; I emerged from one unsatisfactory interview to find her glaring daggers at a young man whose eyes were riveted on her chest as he spoke. I had to intervene before anything happened. “Come along, Darla, we’re finished here.”

Though she obeyed, I heard her mutter under her breath. “Can’t I hit him? Once?” This was the drawback to hiring a fellow ex-con. No one else would understand my daily struggle quite as well as she did, but anyone else could have had a better rein on her temper.

“What’s our motto?”

“Plausible deniability.” We toed the line of the law, but when we did misbehave, for the sake of keeping our second chance, no one could know. With her answer, I thought we were done with the conversation. However, a few steps later she asked me, “What if I tripped in his direction and tried to catch myself on his face?”

“No! Too many witnesses. Focus on the job. It’s time to call on my informants. I want you to check with my friend in Blackgate security and make sure Mr. Lynns is still incarcerated there.”

“Sure thing, boss. You think he did it?”

“No. As of this moment, I’m more inclined to agree with the GCPD’s suspicions of arson, but there’s something off about this case.”

With nothing else to do beside wait for an answer from the Blackgate guard, it was time to fulfill my obligation to Selina. “Darla? One more thing? What do you know about cats?”

“I know that I’m allergic to them. Why?”

I sighed. “Never mind.”

? ? ?

The mantra I repeated to myself as I ascended the stairs to Selina’s apartment was more elaborate than usual. Reminding my reflection that I was adorable or brilliant would not be enough here, oh no. I needed to expand: I am a genius. I have a long record of thrilling, intellectual spars with Batman and a more recent history of cracking cases both fantastic and mundane (and despairingly stupid). I can defeat any lock, restraint, cell door, or electric fence set before me. I am a multi-tasking, computer-hacking, riddle-cracking, polymathic mnemonist. I am a _genius_.

I was fully capable of feeding a posse of small, brainless pussies, and cleaning their litter boxes, and making sure the extra-small and extra-brainless ones didn’t somehow kill themselves through sheer animal idiocy.

As soon as I walked in the door, the most openly hostile of the lot greeted me with a cracky, disapproving _mrow_. I responded with an annoyed huff and flapping gesture. “I don’t care.” A beat later, I remembered this ginger hellcat’s name was Pepper. She seemed fond to the point of possessiveness about Selina, with a contrasting and equally as extreme dislike of me.

Great. I needed to stop building personality profiles for everyone I meet. These furry creatures had previously occupied no more of my attention than, say, the color shirt that Selina had been wearing yesterday (forest green; really brought out her eyes). I scoffed under my breath and kicked the door closed behind me. Two brown, ticked tabby streaks darted from under the sofa and disappeared into another room. Pepper gave me another verbal chewing out before making her own retreat.

Now this was an interesting riddle. _How many cats did my friend leave me?_ Not normally the kind of question I asked, but I was always willing to expand my repertoire. My first priority was to figure out how many mouths I needed to feed today.  Not counting the litter, three so far, no, four including the fluffiest of all. Rubix padded up to me, his soft brown eyes as warm and friendly as they had been when we first met. If I remembered correctly, this Maine coon/ragdoll mix was a rescue cat: an animal Selina had liberated from an abusive home and planned to nurture until he was ready to move on to a more loving home. I can’t bring myself to hate him. We just have too much in common.

That didn’t mean that I had to pander to his obvious wish to be picked up. I stepped over him and continued on toward Selina’s bedroom, where last I had seen the kittens. My fifth charge today, Church the Possibly Dead, was sprawled over the back of the couch, all four legs hanging down either side. As I passed him I noticed an unsavory odor lingering around the cat. My nose wrinkled in disdain, I poked it once, received no response, and moved on.

Most of the kittens I found curled on a large cushion in one corner of Selina’s bedroom. A quick headcount sent me to scouting the room on my hands and knees until I spotted the missing seventh kitten under the dresser. I debated for a moment whether or not it was considered okay to pull a kitten out with my cane, before concluding that their owner was not present to object.

I cradled this one in the crook of my arm and nudged the cushion with my foot to jostle the others awake. “Dinnertime,” I announced, backing away and hoping the kittens would follow. Three of them did, but they seemed more enthralled by my shoelaces than by the promise of food. Of those who stayed behind, one sat up on her hind legs, released the most challenging kitty roar she could muster, and then promptly fell over. “Are you trying to be threatening or cute? Neither applies,” I sneered. The kitten in my hand was more affected by all the noise and excitably bit my thumb. That _devilspawn_. I let out an unmanly yelp and pulled him off quickly, holding him a safe distance away. My grasp around his torso ensured that his four legs dangled in the air like Simba all the way to the kitchen. Judging by the tiny meows behind me, I was leading a conga line of kittens.

My plan was to feed them first, then fill the adults’ food bowls and refresh the water bowls for everyone. That idea was promptly abandoned when the brown streaks from earlier returned to steal the kittens’ food as soon as I set it down. Neither flapping my hands at these cats nor tugging the dishes away deterred them. I resigned myself to preparing more food tonight than usual for these wretched gluttons. Rubix peered over the top of the refrigerator to watch me work. “You know how to wait,” I said approvingly. I should have kept silent, because acknowledging his presence caused him to make a sort of rumble in his chest, like a purr, and nimbly hop down. It became slightly more difficult to fix the food with one unbearably fluffy and amiable cat nuzzling my arms with his head.

The final meal of the day was Church’s, which required separate preparation as it needed both a special brand of cat food and a prescription pill discreetly hidden inside. I left that one on the counter, operating on the premise that Church was indeed capable of getting there by itself. The cat thieves apparently either weren’t inclined to steal that meal, or were no longer hungry after eating to such excess.

Food and water provided, all that was left were the litter boxes. Ten total, which according to Selina was a special one for the kittens, one for each permanent resident, and several extra for long-term visitors. I had no way of telling which cats were the residents and which the visitors, but ten sounded like an excessive number. Couldn’t they just share?

One hour later, I revised my opinion. No, they definitely could not. Cats were infinite shit machines. I spent much longer on the task than I probably should have—blame my inexperience—and went through twenty-two pairs of rubber gloves. I might be mostly cured of my compulsions (cured being a somewhat inaccurate term), but, forgive me, a disgusting combination in both sight and smell would be enough to make anyone feel unclean. I had to force myself to stop washing my hands when they turned red and sore.

Before I could make my escape for the day, someone leapt at me from above, landing awkwardly on my shoulder. I staggered more from surprise than from her slight weight. The latest cat to appear went nose-to-nose with me, before licking my face and jumping down. I gagged and wiped at my face frantically. Who knew what that tongue had been into? Didn’t cats lick their own assholes? Didn’t they carry dead mice and birds around in their mouths? I was going to shower as soon as I got home. I glared at this cat, furious with myself more than anything. I fancied that years of playing with Batman had honed my awareness of my surroundings, and yet this shaggy, orange interloper had not only managed to completely escape my notice, she’d also scored a direct hit. She was no stranger to me. Natalia was an occasional accomplice to Selina’s crimes. “Food’s in the kitchen,” I spat, pointing in the right direction, my mouth set in a peevish line. “Shoo.”

Natalia calmly sat and groomed herself, at which point I gave up on maintaining any dignity for the week and left, still fuming.

? ? ?

Day two I was expected to begin visiting at both morning and evening. However, bad news from my contact in Blackgate caused me to skip the first trip. Arkham and Blackgate inhabit polar opposite ends of the spectrum, as far as public perception went. Blackgate basked in the highest praise for its security, while Arkham was roundly condemned. I’ve been on the bad side of the security for both facilities, and can confidently say that both consisted of nasty, abusive thugs, but only one group of thugs received enough government funding. The upshot of this tangent was that as Blackgate had higher stakes in both perception and money, they were less likely to admit when they’ve had a breakout. For example, when Garfield Lynns and a handful of his fellow inmates escaped three weeks ago, it took a great deal of wheedling a man who owed me a massive debt before I found out. Darla and I were two of probably very few people outside of Blackgate who even knew.

Batman probably did, and had likely spent the last few weeks tracking them down, but that was irrelevant. Firefly was free, which might lend some measure of credibility to my client’s claim, provided the arson matched his M.O.

“But it doesn’t,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Darla asked. I sat, hunched over my desk and glaring at the Riddler bobble-head she’d found in some tourist shack.

I released a low growl and rubbed my eyes. “Let me tell you about Firefly. He doesn’t burn one building and then disappear while the blaze merrily crackles away. He sets fire to an entire block, and then when the fire trucks appear, he sets fire to those. Then the police arrive, and he ignites their cars. By the time Batman makes it to the scene, everything is on fire and he’s standing in the middle of it or hovering just above, worshipping the flames or whatever the hell he does.”

“So, our client’s a liar and we should let the police have him.”

“I wish it were that easy. He hasn’t been arrested yet, which means someone knows his story is plausible. The question becomes: are they just desperate for any lead on Lynns or do they know something we don’t?” I should walk away from this case. If only it weren’t becoming too enticing a mystery. Too many secrets being kept here, too many questions raised and unanswered.

“In that case, what’s our next step?” Darla asked gamely. I held up my profile on Lynns and tapped his face. Time for a new angle.

? ? ?

When I finally got around to Selina’s apartment late that afternoon, I found evidence that the Hairball Queen had paid her offspring a visit. I tried not to inhale through my nose as I cleaned up the hardened, unwanted gift next to the kittens’ bed. Their mother wasn’t anywhere to be found, although now I did have to wonder how the cats were able to enter and exit the apartment at will. There wasn’t a catflap on the door. Shelving that minor mystery for later, I headed right to the food, determined to accomplish my tasks as quickly as possible. The day had already been long and tiring and all I wanted to do was go home and rest. Prop my feet up, work on a crossword puzzle, not think about the fact that I’d spent nearly ten hours tracking down Firefly’s acquaintances in all the seediest dives in Gotham.

Some research I’d conducted last night had informed me that the brown cats were Abyssinians, a breed apparently known for their playfulness and extroversion. Whatever cat lovers wanted to call it, I knew thieves when I saw them, and their blatant misdemeanors yesterday had convinced me to feed the adults first and the kittens second. Kittens were less likely to be capable of stealing from their elders. I side-stepped Pepper, the ginger tyrant, kept a wary eye out for the Abyssinians, and rushed through making dinner. Neither Rubix nor Natalia showed their faces. Once I’d made it to the final meal, however, I decided to bring it directly to Church. If anything would stir that old corpse to life, it should be the presence of food.

I didn’t make it out of the kitchen with the plate. Snarling and crouching in the threshold between kitchen and living room stood the meanest, angriest cat I’d ever seen. I’d call it the ugliest too, if I weren’t already familiar with Church. A missing eye, two mutilated ears, and heavily scarred sides attested to the new cat’s street cred. I froze five feet away from him, meeting his single eye with trepidation. Sure, I could take a cat in a fight, but how would I explain that to Selina? _I’m sorry dear friend, but I kicked one of your flea-bitten fiends into a wall._ She’d flay me alive.

“Easy there, boy,” I said uselessly. I held my hand out in front of me like a peace offering or, possibly, a sacrifice. “It’s only your, uh, Uncle Eddie.” New cat’s ears laid flat against his head, his mouth drew back in a hiss. This was a war veteran of a cat and he found my metaphorical white flag insulting.

Natalia’s timely arrival broke the tense moment. I wondered if I was about to witness a literal catfight, and how and if I should break it up, but Natalia only booped the intruder’s nose with an orange paw and then scampered out of the kitchen. Amazingly, she had defused the other cat’s hostility, mostly through utter confusion. He settled back on his haunches, staring after Natalia. I prudently elected not to draw his attention back to me, considering the cat’s body language managed to convey a general sense of _go-fuck-yourself-_ ness that I didn’t want to disturb. I left Church’s food on the counter for tonight and slipped through the other door in the kitchen to make my circumspect round of the litter boxes scattered throughout the apartment. Cat number fifteen—whom I shall call the Colonel—could claim any room he wanted. I had no intention of lingering.

? ? ?

Day three began badly. I woke to a hand covering my mouth and the streetlight outside revealing a familiar, scarred face hovering scant inches in front me. I kept a dagger under my pillow for precisely these situations. My instincts took over and I jerked one knee, hoping to score a blow on his stomach or groin, while my hand grasped for the blade. Regrettably, my assailant was prepared for both, and twisted his body to deflect my knee and then pinned my legs down with his own weight. The man easily weighed two times more than I did, mostly in muscle. The dagger, had I been able to reach it, would have immediately been embedded in his neck. I was a firm believer in kill or be killed. But my fingers only brushed the hilt before he caught my wrist with reflexes that were faster than mine. He crossed and held my arms against my chest, but to do so he’d released my mouth.

Given a chance, I will always talk my way out of trouble. “Lynns! Garfield! What are you doing?” Of course, should my silver tongue fail me, spluttering confused exclamations at my enemy was also an option, though I would not recommend that method.

“Heard you’re looking for me,” he growled.

“N-” The denial stuck in my throat. _Dogma dint._ It was never a good sign for my mental health when I began to think in anagrams—usually just a step away from couching all of my communication in riddles—but I could worry about that later. Right now I had to cope with the homicidal pyromaniac who broke into my bedroom before sunrise.

“Well?”

“I. Yes. I need to ask you a few questions.” My mind raced as I finally reclaimed my voice. I needed to stall. Couldn’t count on a last minute rescue from Batman, I hardly qualified as one of the innocent civilians he spent so much time defending.

“Don’t like questions.”

“No? Ah, of course not, you’re a busy man. You recently staged that breakout at Blackgate, after all. No need to demur, you alone of that whole group had the experience, the resources, and—” I balked at admitting Garfield Lynns could have any great amount of intelligence. He was clever, yes, but besides that? “And the willpower to devise such a devious escape. Congratulations, sir.”

“Quiet.” Not a man of many words, our Mr. Lynns. He squinted at me in the half-light from my window, considering what to do with me. His conclusion was unfavorable. “Now you die.”

“Bad idea,” I said. “Really, very… a very bad idea. I would not kill me if I were you, because if I were you I wouldn’t want Batman on my trail, and if you were me you’d know that Batman knows that I’ve been looking you. And! If I were you and I knew that, I’d know that Batman would know who killed me and then I’d be in trouble. Except you’re you, so you’d be the one in trouble.”

He blinked. I watched the gears turning in his head as he tried to sort out that torrent of words. “So?” he asked, but I could see a glimmer of doubt in his eyes.

“Batman,” I said with conviction. That was the selling point of my argument.

He thought about it some more. “New idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“You drop the case, or you die. Batman or no Batman.”

I couldn’t agree fast enough to the new terms. Even so, while I was nodding and saying _yes_ three or four times, I still noted that Lynns had essentially confirmed that he knew about the case. He was involved somehow. I refused to let that become another nagging mystery, no no no, I was done for today. Lynns rolled off the bed with a grunt and smoothly vaulted out of my open window. As soon as I heard the tell-tale whirring sound of his jetpack, I wasted no time in dashing over to the window and slamming it shut behind him. Then I sank to the ground, shaking with adrenaline and no small amount of fear.

Firefly was involved. He would kill me if I didn’t back out, like I should have done three days ago.

But Firefly didn’t do subtle. I had to stop thinking about this.

One building with no casualties and only one witness, even that would have been too subtle for him.

I needed to stop thinking about this. He _will_ kill me. I haven’t seen Batman in months. I…

I wasn’t going to drop the case. When I realized that, I covered my face with my hands and screamed in frustration. I had control over my own mind, didn’t I? What else was all that therapy for if not to keep obsessive little thoughts like _Firefly why_ from buzzing around my head?

I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to sort out my own head, but enough time passed that the sun had begun to rise. I couldn’t afford to panic for much longer. I pulled myself together just enough to make a phone call. I listened to the ringing on the other side for an excruciatingly long period of time before she finally answered with a groggy, sleep-deprived “Hello? Boss?”

“Darla. Don’t come in to work for… don’t come until I call you again and tell you to, okay? You get a, uh, surprise vacation, you’ve earned it.” Damned if I’m going to let her get killed on my account. I’d be willing to put Batman between myself and Firefly, but I’d rather not discover if I’m coward enough to do the same to my assistant.

“What?”

“Don’t question me. Nobody’s allergic to vacations. You can handle this.”

She paused for too long at that. “Are you in trouble? Us, I mean, are we in trouble?”

“N—we’re on vacation.” I still can’t lie, at least not easily. “There’s no trouble allowed on vacation.”

“Shut up about the vacation, boss!”

I was shocked into silence. My secretary never spoke to me like that.

“Listen, boss, I know a guy.”

“A guy?” I repeated blankly, still reeling from being told to shut up. Usually that was an insult that sent me into a rage, but I already had too much to deal with today.

“Yeah, a guy. He can get us whatever we need. Small stuff or big stuff, you know? A shotgun, an AK-47, a grenade launcher…”

Neither of us could even get a parking ticket without also receiving the full suspicion and scorn of the public, should it find out. I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting down a bizarre impulse to laugh, or maybe cry, I wasn’t sure which. “Remember our motto. There’s—Darla, there’s no way to plausibly deny possession of illegal firearms.”

“Well, shit.”

“Do you want me to be perfectly honest with you? I need you to lay low for a few days. Disappear as well as you can. I promise, I can handle this on my own.” I would or I’d die, and either way it would be nice to go with a somewhat clean conscience.

Another long pause from her. “You’re going to call Batman, aren’t you?”

“Sure. Don’t you know, he put a tracker in my cane?” I said with a bite of sarcasm.

“Liar. I bet he put one in your car, though.” A moment passed in which we both struggled with how goodbyes worked between two people who weren’t quite friends, but had coexisted easily enough as coworkers. “See you in a few days. Don’t die,” she finally said.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I muttered, hanging up.

? ? ?

My conflicting drives for survival and answers left me paralyzed, and without a clear plan I’d defaulted to the only concrete obligation I had. I ended up at Selina’s apartment by noon, making me late for the morning or early for the evening, whichever. I slumped into her couch, for once not fighting the cushions’ tendency to engulf guests. I let the papers for the Firefly case spill out across the coffee table. To my surprise, Rubix immediately claimed my lap. I stared at him for a minute, and then slowly, carefully, placed my hand on his head and stroked along his back. Once. Twice. And again, gaining confidence each time. Something about petting a cat was very soothing, almost like an exterior, physical manifestation of my meditation exercises. I found a sweet spot along his neck that set him to purring. Wasn’t that the feline equivalent of giving praise? I will admit that despite my near-death experience this morning, the corners of my mouth quirked in the smallest of grins.

Cats are fickle, unpredictable creatures, but Rubix might have been content to lie in my lap all day, had our moments of tranquility not been interrupted. I had nearly reached mental equilibrium again when I heard Pepper meow from behind the couch. I glanced over my shoulder, giving the wall behind me an irritated look in place of making the effort to twist around in order to see Pepper. In that moment of distraction, the Abyssinians pounced. Those terribly crucial papers rattled and tore under the attentions of their mischievous paws.

“Stop that, you kleptomaniacs!” I yelled, leaping to my feet and upending Rubix. The two thorns in my side took off for opposite corners of the house, but I was just unsettled and angry enough that I didn’t want to let them get away. What happened next was… undignified. Or, alternatively, a very exciting forty-five minutes for everyone 

in the apartment. I cursed. I anagrammed. I bashed my knee against the table, narrowly avoided stepping on a kitten, and tripped over Pepper three times.

At the end of it all, I laid on the floor, breathing heavily and clutching my coat to my chest. I’d caught one of the Abyssinians inside it; the other had been tricked into a latched cupboard some fifteen minutes previously. I revised my opinion of these two: they weren’t just mischievous, they were also probably minions for Pepper, who was obviously some sort of mafia cat queen. Said queen yowled at me from across the room.

I flipped her off with little enthusiasm, too worn out from the chase. Now that I had them, I had no plans for what to do with them. Lock them in a closet, perhaps? Kill two birds with one stone and point them toward Firefly? If only that had any chance of working. If Firefly had a weakness that a man like me could easily exploit, it sure as hell wouldn’t be cats.

The higher pitched meows of the kittens as they ran down the hallway were the only warning I got before they showed me, extensively, that a body on the floor was an easy target for the young and playful. I released my prize in favor of disentangling myself from Selina’s tiny army of sharp-clawed, Riddler-scaling terrors.

? ? ?

I worried that Firefly might still be watching my house, which resulted in the next twenty-four hours being a total loss. Night time increased my odds of vigilante interference, should things turn south, but the night immediately after his threat was too soon to safely make a move. I spent most of the day trying to improve the defenses at my apartment, a fruitless endeavor without the privilege of either the time or the resources that I’d spent on fortifying my old Riddler lairs.

On the fourth day of my catsitting job, I finally made a morning visit, during which I implemented a new system. A laser pointer to keep the Abyssinians distracted and a treat or two to placate Pepper. The Colonel had yet to reappear, so he wasn’t a major concern. As for Church, it remained half-dead, but since I never found it in the same spot twice, I could only conclude that it must move sometimes, apparently only while I was away.

This was the day a Persian and a Sphynx appeared, and were awarded the nicknames of Daroga and Oedie respectively. Daroga was an excessively fuzzy, lazy bastard. I spent some time trying to court Oedie’s attention but he refused to even look at me. A snub if I ever experienced one. I felt weirdly stung by a cat’s rejection.

Breakfast, outsmarting the greatest of my feline foes, and meeting the new faces didn’t take enough time, so I finally caved to my curiosity and explored Selina’s apartment. I needed to occupy myself somehow, otherwise I would go stir-crazy and end up tipping my hand too soon. Before I began, I promised myself I wouldn’t be too invasive. I’d just look through every drawer, discover as many hiding spots as I could, see if I could identify any stolen goods, that sort of thing. The bathroom window was open, which I took as the explanation for the cats’ ability to roam freely. I unearthed a paper that bore what looked like a hit list with several items crossed off. The common theme was readily apparent: research labs, puppy mills, a Scottish fold breeder, a pet store with numerous frowny faces doodled around its name. I don’t know what the pet store had done to incur Selina’s wrath, but I’d rather not stick around when she finally visited them with her brand of justice.

My exploration screeched to a halt when Natalia approached me, carrying a dead mouse in her jaws. My nose wrinkled. “Ugh. I _just_ fed you lot, go check the kitchen.” Natalia moved a few steps closer, still watching me with expectant eyes, the mouse hanging limp and bloody between her teeth. I fought the urge to back away. “What do you want?”

With grave dignity, Natalia dropped her prize at my feet. I stared silently at the mouse for a moment, then said dryly, “Thanks.” Cleaning up dead mouse turned out to be less of an assault on my nose than the dried hairball had been, though afterward my hands felt far dirtier. I felt eyes on my back while I washed them and wasn’t at all surprised to find it was Rubix behind me.

? ? ?

Late that evening I paid a visit to Walter Kinsey’s house, Natalia in tow. Selina’s favorite little helper was proving difficult to shake once she formed an attachment. As for Kinsey, the man had set off alarm bells in my head from the beginning, but always either desperation or boredom or potentially terminal curiosity kept me on the case. Now, Firefly himself had warned me away from Kinsey, when by all appearances the two should be at odds. Years in the business had taught me the distinction between victims of Rogues: there were the innocent bystanders, there were those who’d wronged first, and there were the accomplices who’d fallen out of favor. I had a feeling Kinsey wasn’t the first, but until I talked to him, there was little else of which I could be sure.

Kinsey failed to answer the door when I knocked. With no lights on in the house, I decided to let myself in. Lock picks were a perfectly legitimate tool for a private detective to own, right? I could search for clues while I waited for Kinsey to show up, and then I’d flex my much neglected skills at interrogation. I winked at Natalia. “Our little secret.”

Floorboards creaked beneath my feet, proving that tired clichés could become nerve-wracking clichés when they happen to an overstressed man who’d only wanted to make a new start in life. I never wanted any of this fuss with pyromaniacs or cats. I advanced cautiously into the dark house, shining my pocket flashlight onto flat surfaces and into drawers and rifling through them. I just needed some sign that Kinsey had been in contact with Firefly before his fire. Then I could deal with the questions of why he’d hired me, what they’d been doing, what I planned to do after answering those first two.

Natalia slinked in and out of my view. I suspected she was used to an entirely different method of breaking in, with different goals in mind. At one point she brought me a set of gold diamond cufflinks, which I had to return to Kinsey’s nightstand. She pawed at my hand as I set them down. “I’m not a thief anymore,” I told her.

Ultimately, my search turned up _nothing_. Not even a computer to hack. How could one man be so shady yet so clean at the same time? The irony of such question coming from me sank in a moment later, but my intentions were mostly good, or at least not bad.

When Kinsey returned to his house a few hours later, I was tense and impatient. He had the hunted look of a man who’s already been hassled today. His situation wasn’t about to improve. I waited until he turned his back to shut and lock the door before I made my move. By the time he turned around, I was sitting in the previously-empty armchair, legs crossed, cane held parallel to my eyes. “Good evening, Mr. Kinsey! Rather late for you to be returning home, isn’t it?”

“Nigma! What are you doing?”

“Reporting on my progress. Don’t you want to hear how I’ve been earning my paycheck?” I stopped pretending to examine my cane and arched my eyebrow at Kinsey.

He shook his head, his eyes darting around the dark room. Surprising that he hadn’t threatened to call the cops yet. “Don’t play games with me. I tried to call your office yesterday. Where were you then?”

“Fulfilling my obligation.” To Selina, anyway. “There are times when my office is unstaffed. You have my apologies for the inconvenience.” I had mastered the art of injecting my voice with equal parts sugary falseness and hard accusation.

“Meow,” Natalia chimed in, the first noise she’d made since we left Selina’s apartment.

Kinsey started, seeing her for the first time. He recovered his composure quickly, though. “I’ve reconsidered. I want you to drop the case. I’ll compensate for your time, and—”

“You surprise me, Mr. Kinsey. Don’t you want to prove your innocence to the naysayers? Gather evidence for a lawsuit?”

“No, damn you! I changed my mind. Leave or I’ll call the cops.” Ah, there was the threat I’d been expecting.

I leaned forward, my entire demeanor changing from casual to intense. “Firefly confronted you, didn’t he?”

Kinsey shook his head and pointed at the door. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You and I are through.”

“He did! Do you know he talked to me, too?”

“And then you came here? You idiot, don’t you know he’s watching me?”

Kinsey was a stocky, portly man, so it was my rage rather than my lacking muscles that allowed me to shove him against the wall before he’d even finished talking. “You, sir, baited Firefly, used me, and you think _I’m_ the idiot in this room?” Deep breaths, Nigma. Calm down and think. I needed to go—not home, there was too great a chance Firefly could find me there before I was ready. So, back to Selina’s apartment, to think of a plan to lure him into a confrontation on my terms. Was it really so wrong that I wanted to revert to my old puzzle traps for this one? I’ll have to figure out the logistics of that, how much I can get away with in the name of self-defense and unraveling conspiracies.

I released Kinsey and stepped back, straightening the front of my suit. “I’ll deal with him. Your safest bet is to turn yourself in to the police.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Kinsey protested.

I quelled him with a single look. “Then why is he targeting you? What made you blame him from the beginning? You hired me to find your arsonist when the police failed. Don’t be affronted by my competence.”

He stood ashen-faced and silent, which I took as answer enough, and certainly the best I could hope for from him. I had to step over Natalia to reach the door, as she had slinked over by our feet to investigate the upheaval. “I’ll be in touch soon. Think about my advice, eh?” I said over my shoulder.

? ? ?

I went back to Selina’s apartment. I’d hidden all my notes there, on the off-chance that Firefly might find them at my house or my office. They were written in a cipher that would be completely unintelligible for him, but I still didn’t like the thought of them falling into the wrong hands. Natalia trotted at my heels while I retrieved the case file from its location at the back of Selina’s bedroom closet. By this point, I believed I had enough information that I could with pride turn this case over to Batman. Failing businessman tried to, somehow, make a quick buck off one of Gotham’s costumed criminals, but wasn’t prepared for the fallout if their arrangement turned awry.

It wasn’t as easy getting ahold of Batman as it used to be, unless I was willing to break a few laws to secure his attention. Shelving that thought for now, I went back to her living room to—wait. That noise, just outside the window, that low _vrrrr_ , sounded just like Firefly’s jetpack. Operating on reflexes honed from years dodging the Bat, I had just enough time to jump over the back of the couch for cover before Firefly burst through the window. Selina’s thick carpet partially muffled even his heavy footsteps.

Allow me to prove my knowledge of my fellow Gothamites and my predictive skills. I might have missed the possibility that Firefly had tailed me to Selina’s apartment, but now having that information, what happened within the next sixty seconds played entirely to my expectations. Firefly delivered his threat in that low growl of his (“I warned you. Now you burn.”), Pepper yowled in protest at the home invasion, the couch went up in flames, and Batman made his dramatic, last minute appearance. I lied on my stomach on the floor, feeling very detached from it all. Of course, how else does one draw Batman’s presence? Put oneself in mortal danger. He loved that just-in-the-nick-of-time trope too much.

Flames licked down the couch’s fabric, so I wisely decided to roll away from it before it spread to the carpet or my clothes. Firefly could easily be heard yelling and taunting Batman, even over the fire alarms. That didn’t bode well for the continued survival of Selina’s home. I contemplated sneaking out while they were occupied. When Batman arrived on the scene, a Rogue’s priority always shifted to him. I could leave undetected.

At this moment, an unholy, spine-chilling screech filled the air. I rose to my knees and whirled around, one hand automatically reaching for the gun I no longer carried. That was a noise more suited to Arkham Asylum than this usually quiet, upper-class neighborhood. It didn’t take me long to find the source: Church had finally arisen.

The old cat was strabismic, bow-legged, and shaky, with one yellow canine missing form its noticeable underbite. It wasn’t on fire, which had been my first thought upon seeing it. The three humans in the room stood frozen, unbalanced by this interruption of an otherwise fine action scene. I remembered that I couldn’t let Selina’s cats come to any harm, and I suspect Batman was recalculating this fight to avoid endangering any little kitties. Firefly likely imagined how best to ignite a mangy old cat. Church took another step then let out another godawful screech that I belatedly realized was its infernal interpretation of “meow.” Our feline-induced détente could not last, and Batman recovered first, diving at Firefly, who unfortunately had enough sense to dodge.

I scooped Church into my arms and ran back to the bedroom, where I spent precious, frantic moments stuffing kittens into a cat carrier. With the apartment on fire and those two duking it out in the living room, it was time for all other occupants to leave. Church and the kittens were all I could find on short notice, and with a murder-slash-arsonist howling for my blood in the other room, I couldn’t bring myself to make a more thorough search. I slipped around the fight, kicked the door down, and fled, leaving it to hope that the others were either not present or had already abandoned their home.

By the time I made it to my car, official help had just begun to arrive. It wouldn’t do my reputation any good if I was spotted fleeing the scene of a crime, so I sat on the hood of my car to ride out the adrenaline high. Very few people knew that Catwoman lived here and even fewer were aware of any connection between us. I closed my eyes, trying not to think about cats trapped in a burning building or Selina’s face when she found out. Eight distressed cats. Over the past few days I’d accumulated seventeen, but I could only confidently say that eight of them had made it out. Even a mind as great as mine could feel discouraged by a week marked by so many failures and stresses.

“Nigma.”

My eyes snapped open. “Batman!” Fight had to be over. Batman looked lightly scorched and very angry, but if he was facing me already then that had to mean he’d brought down Firefly in short order. I mustered my best smile, that toothy, showmanlike grin that he’s seen a hundred times before and almost never under pleasant circumstances. Considering all that shared history, I couldn’t really blame the vigilante for jumping straight into interrogative mode.

“What are you doing?”

Beyond the other man’s shoulder, I could see the fire department hard at work, which did go some way toward making me feel better about letting my friend’s home catch fire on my watch. It looked like many of the human residents of the building had also scrambled out. “What am I always doing, my dear Dark Knight? I am carrying intrigue.” I paused for dramatic effect, savoring the scowl that settled over Batman’s visible features. Ohh, yes, I’d missed this. It’d been far too long since one of my cases coincided with one of his, and longer still since I’d had the Bat hanging on my every word. I thrust a thumb over my shoulder, indicating the contained litter behind me. “Specifically, a carrier with an intrigue of kittens.”

Batman continued to glare at me, which I found unfair but exceedingly typical of him. “Oh, lighten up. This is not the worst situation you’ve ever found me in.” No discernible change. “Or the strangest.”

“Explain.”

Batman wasn’t asking which situations I considered worse or stranger, obviously. I shrugged. “Favor for a friend.”

“Who?”

“Selina. Selina Kyle. She needed someone to watch her cats.” Oh, well, maybe I could come up with a plausible lie for the police.

“I wasn’t talking about the cats. What did you do to Firefly?”

“Hey! I think the better question is: what did Walter Kinsey do to Firefly?” I pouted.

The Batglare intensified. “How do you know about Walter Kinsey?”

Apparently everyone knew more about Kinsey than I did. I threw my arms into the air in exasperation. “Who in this goddamn city doesn’t know about Walter Kinsey? What did Walter Kinsey do?”

Batman deigned to answer me for once. “Aiding and abetting a known criminal, suspected involvement in a recent prison break.”

“Are you telling me he broke Firefly out of prison and then wanted to put him back in it?”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what he hired me to do! I’m not getting paid, am I?”

Batman stared at me for an uncomfortably long moment. I crossed my arms and waited, fighting the urge to smooth my hair and straighten my suit while under his scrutiny. “Nigma. Kinsey hired Firefly to attack his competitors.”

I huffed. “So he was just another stupid jerk who thought he could manipulate one of us for his profit.” We’d all seen plenty of those throughout our long and checkered careers. That type usually ended up dead and no one ever learned from their idiocy. I suppose that was natural selection at its finest, weeding out the terminally obtuse. I cannot describe how furious I felt to realize that I’d wasted all this time and trouble on _that._ “He underestimated me.”

Batman seemed to relax, though he did strive to keep all of his expressions as grim, neutral, and similar as possible. I relied on the subtlest twitches of his mouth, minor shifts in his stance, to gage his reactions. I squinted at his face and determined that I was probably no longer under suspicion of doing anything nefarious and criminal that somehow involved cats. As always, I felt compelled to fill the silence on my own when Batman refused to keep up his end of the conversation. “This is Church, by the way.” I pointed at the cat lounging on the hood of my car, then gestured at the carrier again. “Those are the Seven Princes of Hell.” I showed him the back of my hands, still faintly marked with thin red scratches from yesterday.

Batman’s shoulders stiffened briefly, then he turned away, not quite fast enough to hide the faint twitch at the corners of his mouth. I gaped at the back of his head; had I actually succeeded in making my greatest rival smile? And not that irritating, smug, justice-has-been-served smirk that I used to receive back when Batman foiled my plans on a regular basis. I wasn’t even trying to amuse.

The rarity of the experience bolstered my courage to the point that I decided to push my luck. “You know Selina. She thinks everybody should be cat people, especially the people she likes. She keeps adding to her collection—not jewels, but cats!” I glanced back at the building, fire now mostly under control. “There may be more in there,” I said, leaving it hanging like a question or a request.

I was a good kind of surprise, not a feeling I often associated with Batman, when he turned back to me and nodded. “Wait here.” I watched him grapnel back into the building, acting merely on my word that Catwoman’s pets may be in danger.

“My oh my, how things have changed,” I murmured under my breath.

Batman emerged a few minutes later, bearing two cats, both of which he wordlessly dropped into my lap. Unfortunate, considering that one of them was the Colonel, who gave my hands another set of scratches in his scramble to leap down and cower under the car. I leapt to my feet, shaking my injured hands and incidentally dumping the other cat, Rubix, onto the hood next to Church. “Ow! Was this all of them?”

“Just wait,” Batman said.

Trailing behind Batman was a line of firemen, each of them bearing cats of their own. Oh, wonderful. This looked like exactly the kind of story both the internet and the daily news loved. I ended up with the Hairball Queen, an Abyssinian, Daroga, and Oedie. No Pepper, no Natalia, missing half of the klepto pair. “Are you sure this is all of them?” I asked.

“ _Nigma_. There were no other cats. Alive _or_ dead.” Though Batman’s voice was as firm as always, he did sound more sympathetic than I was used to. My questioning must have convinced Batman that my concern for the cats was genuine, for either their sake or Selina’s. Even I wasn’t sure which. Possibly both.

I nodded. “Understood.” They were probably okay, right? Probably somewhere out there. It felt too wrong to say ‘thank you’ to Batman, yet I felt compelled to say something. I eventually settled on, “Selina would be grateful for that.”

Another minute Batsmirk. “Understood.”

We were on amazingly decent terms at the moment, I might as well use that to my advantage. I gestured at the police in the distance. “Tell that lot I’m not sticking around. Lina left me with an address for a 24-hour veterinary clinic, there was a fire, here are the cats, you know how it is.”

“They’re going to want a witness testimony from you.” Batman didn’t look quite as amused at being casually bossed around like that.

“They know where to find me,” I said. “I only care that they approach me as a witness, not a suspect.”

“They’ll have no reason to think otherwise,” Batman said, and I was prepared to accept that as good enough.

? ? ?

I wrangled ten unhappy cats into a beat-up old Buick with a questionable paintjob. Even more remarkably, I drove said Buick without crashing from the kind of distraction that can only be caused by ten cats of assorted temperament. The Colonel, despite hating me the most, had chosen to make my lap his place of refuse. Though the claws dug uncomfortably into my calves at every turn, I made no move to dislodge him. He’d already subjected me to two fierce scratchings today. No more. Besides, his presence ensured that none of the other cats would touch me for the duration of this ride, with the sole exception of Rubix, but at least Rubix seemed to like his chauffeur.

The inside of my car was a cat mad house. The extensive list of the Buick’s current passengers included: one Abyssinian who refused to get off the dashboard; one clingy and angry stray in my lap; one eldritch horror passed out in the passenger seat; one undisputed queen of hairballs earning her reputation on the floor of my car; one carrier full of squeaky kittens in the backseat; one ball of fluff peering anxiously at the kittens; a Persian and a Sphynx pacing anxiously; and one disgruntled detective in a singed green suit.

This still didn’t rank as the worst car ride I’d ever had. After all, I wasn’t screaming down Main Street with the Batmobile in hot pursuit. I didn’t look forward to explaining to Selina what had happened during the week that she was away.

I startled the man at the front desk when I kicked the clinic door open and strode in as casually as a man could while carrying ten cats.  The Colonel clung to the front of my suit, Church draped over the intrigue carrier in my left hand, and Rubix tucked under my other arm. We all still smelled of smoke. The burn marks in my clothes were readily apparent, though not as prominent as the question marks littering the green fabric. “Four more in the car,” I said in lieu of explanation.

The vet on duty already knew most of the cats, and expressed surprise at seeing them without Ms. Kyle. One interminable wait later, I learned that all the cats had escaped miraculously unscathed. Only Church and Rubix were lightly singed, with no injury. I hadn’t been so lucky. When I got home I would need that burn ointment for the blisters on my back. The vet described ways of placating the cats emotional upset, particularly as they would be unable to return home right away. I only half-listened, too preoccupied with the sinking realization that they’d all end up at my place for the night.

As soon as we arrived at my small apartment, I let the Colonel outside. I felt neither disappointed nor surprised that the black cat didn’t return. Transferring the rest of them from car to home was a lengthy and involved process. They ended up sorted into my bathroom and both closets, giving them smaller areas to adjust to before they were unleashed into the larger area of my apartment. At this time of night, a pile of newspaper in the corner was the best substitute for litter boxes that I could provide. I hoped that would work just as well for cats as it reportedly did for dogs. I failed to persuade a large number of the cats to sleep anywhere else but on my mattress when I finally resigned myself to bed.

How many times would I end up washing my sheets, would I need to get a new mattress, would Selina bring me along when she went to beat the crap out of Firefly… Despite these questions and more still buzzing in my head, and the unfamiliarity of sleeping with a pile of furry creatures, I eventually dozed off.

Only to wake up at two a.m. to Batman shaking my shoulder. I let out a very unmanly yelp and scooted away so fast I hit my head on the wall and disturbed the pile of cats. I hissed and rubbed my head, clutching the sheets to my bare chest protectively. “What made you think breaking in while I was asleep was a good idea? What are you doing?”

“I found more,” Batman said simply, and then exited through my bedroom window. I blinked after him, confused, embarrassed, and surrounded by sleepy cats. Of all my Bat-encounters, that had to be the most frustratingly vague—oh! Oh, no, wait, I scrambled out of bed, tugged on my shoes and stumbled for the door, Rubix at my heels. The icy chill of Gotham’s night air quickly made me regret stepping outside without a shirt, but the Batmobile was parked just outside. Batman presented me with two more survivors.

“Did you go back?” I asked, stunned.

“I didn’t think they would have strayed far from home.”

I nodded, looked at the cats, then down at Rubix, and back up to Batman. “Wait, did you even leave?”

“I went back. Take the cats, Edward.” There was a hint of exasperation in Batman’s voice. Batman was going out of his way to find Catwoman’s pets, Batman had upgraded to using the Riddler’s first name. I held out my arms, wondering if these were the perks to reforming, that Batman was suddenly much more pleasant. Or even slightly more pleasant. Possibly tolerable, even. My arms were filled with Pepper and the other Abyssinian. Both were sluggish, so I suspected they’d been drugged. Far be it from me to question Batman’s methods. Once the cats had been passed on, Batman didn’t stick around and the frigid air quickly drove me back inside. I had one more day with the animals to prepare for.

Living with cats full-time was significantly different to only checking in on them twice a day. My suspicion that kittens manage to get into everything was confirmed. Finding good places for the litter boxes was more of a hassle than expected. Rubix always followed me into the bathroom, and a small crowd always formed outside my shower and meowed in agitation at the water pouring down around me. I did my best to ignore it. Church showed marginally more signs of life, though it wasn’t as keen on exploring the new environment as the others were. After coughing up a hairball in my car, the Queen did not make good on her name. I went through lint brushes and vacuum cleaner bags at an alarming rate, but I absolutely refused to live in a place covered in cat hair. I also could not afford to go out in public in anything less than a perfectly clean suit.

Natalia found me. I lived almost half a city away from Selina, which surely should have been far out of Natalia’s reach. Somehow she still tracked me down and was calmly waiting by my front door the day after the fire. “My apartment isn’t as big as Lina’s,” I informed her. “We’re already overcrowded.” Her only response was to rub against my legs, purring. I will never understand cats; half of them wanted nothing to do with me while the other half had thoroughly claimed me as one of their own in less than a week. Still, I let her in, and with a distinct sense of triumph. I’d successfully nurtured _seventeen_ living creatures through a week and one house fire. That had to be the most effort I’d ever put toward the well-being of things that weren’t directly related to me. It felt good.

On that night, five days after I began my watch, Selina finally called. I let it ring just a bit longer than I usually did, trying to think of an easy way to break the news.

Oh, screw it, I was just going to go with a fun way.

“Riddle me this, Selina! Who has gone above and beyond the call of duty to protect seventeen cats this week? Well, I only have sixteen now, because I let a stray go for being a complete bastard.”

“Hi Eddie, I’m fine, the trip was a success, the plane ride is long but almost over. Thanks for asking. Also, seventeen? That sounds like a high number.”

“Let’s see here. American short-hair with a litter of seven, check. Ginger heckler, check. Ginger ninja, check. Two kleptomaniacs, check. Lethargic zombie, check. Fuzzball, check. War veteran, check. Persian and Sphynx, check and check.”

“Eddie, I only understood half of that, but you definitely don’t have to mind the Persian or the Sphynx. Those belong to my neighbor.”

“Oh.” I got a good chuckle out of the knowledge that Batman had unintentionally stolen a few in his drive to help Catwoman. “I will return them to their owners post-haste. By the way, do you have any previous grievance with Firefly?”

“That guy with the flame-thrower? No, why?”

“You do now.”

The next morning, I stood beside Selina in her scorched apartment. We tallied the damage to her former home.

“Can’t fix this with a paint job,” she finally said.

“It’s only 30% fire damage, I’d say. 70% intact. You could move back in,” I offered.

“Edward. I have three holes in my walls.”

“I didn’t say you could _immediately_.” I folded my hands behind my back and rocked on my heels. “Did I tell you Batman broke into my bedroom?”

“Three times. Are you sure you don’t have any pictures or footage of Batman holding my cats?”

“Sorry.”

“Damn.” She sighed and rubbed her temples.

 “Where are you and your little friends going now?”

“Sounds like you’re in a hurry to get rid of us,” Selina said with an amused look.

I backtracked. “Not what I meant. I could put you up for a few days.” The thought of living with Selina was almost more nerve-wracking than Batman or Firefly in my bedroom.

“I’m teasing. I have a place, we’ll be fine.” That was _such_ a Rogue trait, not to get too attached to any place of residence, and to always have a back-up. Even so, I thought she was covering some loss for those luxurious belongings that had gone up in flames. “As for you, you’re the madman who let my apartment burn, showed Batman where I lived, and singed my cats.”

“Not all of them,” I said automatically, taking a step back. Was she still teasing, or had we slipped into a real fight?

“Yes. You… did protect them, even with all of that. That’s where I was going.” She paused. “I need to see them. If they pass inspection, you can keep one, deal?” She left in the second it took me to adjust to the revelation that she wasn’t really angry.

Oh, hell. If she was going to insist on giving me a cat permanently, I might as well make sure it was one of the low maintenance ones—Rubix, perhaps?

**Author's Note:**

> CAT GUIDE:
> 
> Pepper: orange short-hair tabby, self-appointed guardian of Selina’s household, heckler and busybody, homage to Pepper Potts. Permanent resident.
> 
> Natalia: orange long-fur mixed, master of stealth and hunting, homage to Natasha Romanoff. Permanent resident with one other home. Thanks to Project0506 for loan of her Pepper and Natalia cats, from the extended adventures of Natalia (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1256758/chapters/2587402).
> 
> The Colonel: black cat, completely unknowable mix, streetfighter and grouch supreme, homage to Nick Fury. Stray.
> 
> Church: unknown, eldritch horror, reference to Pet Sematary. Rescued from abusive home, permanent resident.
> 
> The Seven Princes of Hell: American short hairs, six female, one male. Very healthy and active, seven weeks old. One of many litters to pass through Selina’s home.
> 
> The Hairball Queen: American short hair, mother of the Seven Princes. Wanderer, uses Selina’s apartment as a cat maternity ward.
> 
> The Abyssinians: curiouser than George. Rescued from abusive home.
> 
> Rubix: Maine coon/ragdoll mix, fluffy, floppy, friendly, and low maintenance, bastardization of Rubik’s cube. Rescued from abusive home.
> 
> Oedie: Sphynx, snooty, has higher standards than Edward Nigma. Reference to Oedipus. Actually owned by one of Selina’s neighbors. Mistakenly displaced by Batman.
> 
> Daroga: Persian, floofiest of all. Reference to Phantom of the Opera. Actually owned by one of Selina’s neighbors. Mistakenly displaced by Batman.


End file.
